


Lust vs. Chastity

by greenmtwoman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmtwoman/pseuds/greenmtwoman
Summary: Part one:  Jaime, Brienne and a night in Dorne.  Part two:  Eighteen years later, a family crisis.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	Lust vs. Chastity

**Author's Note:**

> The two halves of this story don't really match - sorry! The first part is basically PwP, or maybe with just a trace of plot. Why are they in Dorne? (Because I wanted it to be hot.) How did the war end? (I don't know.) Who's on the Iron Throne? (I don't care.) This is the most explicit thing I've ever written.  
> The second half is all G-rated family angst. (Why are kids so impossible?) If that's not your thing, you can stop reading after the fun part!

**Dorne: After the War**

**Jaime**

The moon is bright and the windows are wide open to catch the breeze. Days in Dorne are almost unbearable, but nights are gentle. They smell of jasmine, sea air and garbage. It’s best to sleep naked, with no more than a light sheet on the bed. They have thrown off even that. Brienne lies sprawled on her back, legs akimbo, one hand over her head, the other resting on his hip. He lifts her hand to his lips and she makes a snuffling noise, but doesn’t wake.

Jaime shifts, wanting to kiss her, but deciding simply to watch her sleep. He inventories her, beginning at the top of her head with her messy pale hair spread on the pillow. Sleep smooths away the line between her eyebrows. She takes the world seriously, his wench. His wife. _Except when I can distract her._ Her blue, blue eyes are shut, but that allows him to concentrate on her almost white eyebrows and lashes. Generous high forehead, broad crooked nose, red with sunburn. Freckles. Big teeth just showing between wide, soft lips, which are very fine for kissing. Her round chin wobbles when she is emotional, even when the rest of her remains stoic. A tuft of slightly darker hair under her raised arm. Shoulders as wide as his, hips wider, to welcome him and cradle him. Scars, mostly fading, but still visible in the moonlight as whiter lines on her white skin. His left hand hovers over the scar on her thigh. _Mine. I should be ashamed of having marked her, but I’m not. I would have killed her if I could. What a strange thought that is._ Instead she had straddled him, pushed his head under water, and nearly drowned him.

He wishes she were straddling him now. His hand goes to his hardening cock, idly stroking. Back then he couldn’t see through the armor to her small round breasts with their dark pink nipples. He didn’t know that there was a place between them where he could rest his head and hear her heartbeat. He didn’t know how soft her skin was on her inner arm, or on her thighs. Freckles continue on her shoulders and breasts, but her stomach is the color of fresh cream. The curls of her pubic hair are darker than the hair on her head; almost Lannister gold. He smiles at the thought. When her cunt is spread to his gaze, its petals are the same rosy color as her nipples. Her legs are several leagues long, her thighs thick with muscle, her calves taut and strong, but her ankles and feet unexpectedly slim. He is blessed and he knows it. 

If she saw him watching her and knew what he was thinking, she would blush crimson. She is still shy sometimes, though not nearly so shy as she was in the beginning. Oddly, that first time, it had helped when he confessed that he too was afraid. He hadn’t known how to please her, if he could please her, if he might hurt her. He had only known one woman’s body, and he wouldn’t bring his dead sister-lover into his wife’s bed. _We managed. Awkwardly, then less awkwardly, then not awkwardly at all._ He still damns the septa who told her that no man would ever want her, but if a man did she would have to endure the pain and humiliation of it. He loves it when he makes her laugh in bed; the septa told her that she laughed like a donkey. He’s fully hard now, but he reluctantly stills his hand. He’ll let her sleep a bit longer.

**Brienne**

She likes to look at him when he’s asleep. She always likes to look at him. Asleep, awake, talking, fighting, laughing, thinking, and when he’s inside her. Asleep, though, he’s vulnerable and beautiful and she can stare at him without self-consciousness. She feels the familiar ache between her legs and marvels that the sight of him still affects her so. He’s lying on his back, legs and arms out flung, taking up too much of the Dornish bed, in which they have yet to do anything but sleep.

Jaime doesn’t look young, even sleeping. He’s seen too much, been too much and done too much to have that kind of innocence. There’s too much earned gray in his hair now. But he looks younger, and far more peaceful. His memories are what they are, but she hopes that his life is no longer a burden to him.

There’s a balance of gold and gray in his hair, but his beard is mostly silver now. She takes stock of him. Tousled hair long enough to grasp and run her fingers through. Green eyes shut, but long lashes, pale at the base, darker at the tips, and straight eyebrows. High cheekbones, neat ears. _Smaller than mine._ An endearing imperfect bump on a straight nose. Knife-edged jaw and a firm mouth with soft lips. _Which I’m not going to kiss. Not yet._ Strong neck, shoulders wide as hers and wiry hair on his chest which scrapes intriguingly against her breasts when he holds her. Another tuft of golden hair under his raised right arm, ending in the still-sensitive stump which she has examined, held and kissed until he no longer tries to hide it from her. The Jaime she loves has one hand. She doesn’t know if it was necessary. _That would be too cruel._ But otherwise she might not be here, looking at him. Entitled to look at him with a mix of love and lust that is his alone.

There’s a stripe of hair trailing down over his flat stomach to his groin which fascinates her. It’s like an arrow, drawing the eye irresistibly down. Sometimes she thinks it’s even more erotic when he’s partly clothed. His hips are narrower than hers and his thighs strong and at the juncture his cock nestles sweetly in its thicket of wiry dark gold curls. _No gray there yet._ She wants to pet it as if it was a wee beast, a cub, not a lion.

His cock is enthralling to her. She marvels at its responsiveness; how changeable it is. Sometimes it’s small and soft and quiet, as it is now. Or it may lengthen and thicken before it hardens. Finally it can jut impressively, standing stiff away from his body, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. But the taut skin is soft and the texture of the head is softer than the finest velvet. And it’s for her and because of her, which is still difficult to believe. She can rub it with her hand, on her nipple, between her legs, even on her ruined cheek and he looks at her as if she is something amazing. She’d been uncertain at first about taking him in her mouth. Only a whore would do that. Would she choke? Would she gag? Would she accidentally bite him? She had been mortified the first time he had put his mouth on her cunt, but pleasure had silenced her protests.

Now she even enjoys it when he comes in her mouth. She doesn’t like the taste so much, but the expression on his face is deeply arousing. _I remember imagining once that a man’s seed was actually a seed that he planted. Brown and round. I was so startled the first time Jaime spilled, groaning, in my hand and I found myself coated with sticky white fluid._ It’s part of what they do, building their own pleasure by pleasing the other. Sometimes he’ll be in charge, commanding her to lie back as he kisses her and tongues her, bringing her to the edge and stranding her there again and again. Sometimes he’ll enter her just as she climaxes, the surprise of being suddenly filled drawing out her orgasm. And sometimes she’s the one in control, holding him in place, teasing him with hands and mouth until he begs for release.

Today, though… _Today is different. Today we have another purpose. We will please each other, but also…_ The message from her father had finally come. Too late, not that she would have heeded it even if had reached her immediately. He wanted their family to continue, but he forbade her marriage to a landless, titleless, honorless, handless knight who was lucky to have his head still on his shoulders. Lord Selwyn commanded her to return home and take up her responsibilities. She has no problem with that command; she longs for her home. She can lift some of her father’s burdens; she can be a just and brave protector of her people. But when she returns it will be with Jaime, with the husband she wed in the ruins of King’s Landing after he had been stripped of everything that had made him a Lannister lion. _It didn’t matter at all to me. All I saw when we spoke our vows was Jaime. Only Jaime._

She had sent a message to her father asking for his consent as a gesture of respect, but hadn’t waited for the reply. It made no difference. She intends to come back to Tarth with her body round with Jaime’s child. Her father won’t turn away his grandchild, no matter how he frowns and fumes. Yesterday, with Jaime looking on, she poured her last batch of moon tea onto the Dornish sand.

**Jaime**

He wakes to her lips on the hollow at the base of his throat. “Good morning,” she whispers.

“It’s not morning.”

“Yes it is. Look there.” There’s a sliver of light in the east, just turning the horizon to turquoise and pink. She shifts to lie atop him, heavy but not too heavy.

“Oof! You weigh as much as a pygmy whale.”

“I do not! I don’t complain when you’re on top.”

“Oh, but you’re stronger than I am. On the other hand,” he flips her over, “I’m strong enough.” He reaches down and slides a finger gently against her folds. “And you’re as wet and slippery as a sea creature.”

It’s good that he can tease her a little now without causing her to retreat in hurt and alarm. Their beginning had been awkward, and he’s still angry – not at her! – when he remembers. The first night, she had begun to touch him with joyful eagerness, but when they were finally naked her hands had dropped abruptly to her sides. She had turned on her back and shut her eyes tightly. “You can go ahead now,” she had said firmly. “I’m ready.”

“No you’re not.”

“I know what I have to do.” Her jaw had been bravely set.

“You don’t have to do anything! This isn’t a duty.” He had rolled away from her, his cock aching. “Seven hells. Brienne. Open your eyes. Look at me.” _Her septa… I’ve forgotten the damned woman’s name… had told her how to behave. Submit. Lie still. Let yourself be touched, but don’t touch. It will hurt, but a woman must bear it_. Most of his own uncertainty had vanished in the face of hers.

He brings his mind back to the much more agreeable present. She’s moving beneath him, grinding her hips up into his, rubbing his cock with her thigh. She spreads her legs wide, hooks one around him and grasps his length, moving it against her wetness until they’re both slick and breathing heavily. It would be easy to slip inside her now; a selfish part of him wants nothing more. She’s wet and ready, but he takes some pride in making her come before he does; his ability to last is one of the few benefits of aging. He replaces his cock with his fingers and kneels between her knees. She makes a discontented noise at the removal of his warmth, but licks her lip and then bites it as she stares at his arousal. “Jaime… gods…”

In the back of his mind, from long ago, in a different context, he hears the words, “You want her? Go get her.” _And I did. And I do. And I will._ He leans forward, balancing on his right elbow, to kiss first one breast and then the other. Her heartbeat is fast. He kisses his way down her torso and sticks his nose in her navel with a snort and she laughs. “That tickles!”

“Sorry,” he says, not meaning it at all. But he leaves that spot, and her breath hitches as he moves lower. She widens her legs, but her face is crimson when he glances up and he smiles at her, enchanted by her mixture of wantonness and shyness. He brushes his lips over the soft, soft skin on her inner thigh. “Do you want this?”

“You know I do.” Her voice is low and breathy.

“You want me to lick you? You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Say it, wench. Say it, wife.”

“I…”

“Say it, or I’m staying right where I am.” He blows lightly on her cunt and she twitches.

“Please… use your tongue, Jaime. I want…”

He supposes that’s good enough. He alternates circling her bud with his tongue and sucking on the whole area until he can feel a swollen ridge of flesh where there was softness before. He knows that if he presses right there, in a certain spot… Presses, licks, moves forward and back… Her body arches off the bed and she cries out inarticulately, shaking and clenching. He wonders if she knows that she grimaces when she climaxes, much as she once did when swinging a sword. He enjoys the sight very much, but doesn’t think he’ll mention it. She could too easily take it the wrong way and be hurt. Even in a marriage, he is learning, some things don’t need to be shared.

**Brienne**

She comes back to herself, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through her body. Her hands are wound in Jaime’s hair and she tugs him up to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I know.”

She punches him on the shoulder and kisses him again. He’s still hard, and it’s the work of a moment to reach down and guide him into her swollen, still sensitive flesh. “Now,” she says. “Come inside me. I want to feel you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Very sure.” They’ve been careful up until now. Their very first time he had been unable to hold back, but since then she has drunk moon tea and he’s pulled away to spill outside her. She’d never planned to be a mother. To begin with, it would have meant acquiring a husband, or at least a man, and she’d never expected that. Now she has a husband she loves, a home she wants to return to, and she’s sick of death. She wants life.

There’s something primitive now about her longing for the man inside her. He’s close to his pleasure as he swells larger and his thrusts become uncontrolled and jerky. His jaw is clenched, his muscles taut and he is glorious. “I’m going to come so hard,” he groans. “Gods, Brienne, I’m coming, I can’t stop, I’m…”

She feels the pulse of heat and wetness deep within, touches herself quickly where they are joined and spirals into another orgasm as he collapses, burying his head in her shoulder. “I love you,” he mumbles, and she smiles, noticing that it’s what they both always say in the moment just after. _Will it be tonight? Or next week or next month or year? Or never, upsetting all our plans?_ For this moment she couldn’t care. For this moment, this was enough.

*****************************************

**Tarth: 18 Years Later**

**Elenei**

Elenei Lannister of Tarth rises from her knees, which ache even though a cushion protects them from the cold marble floor. _Papa first or Mama first? Or both together?_ The seven statues in the sept give no answer, though their serene gaze comforts her. She’s lit a candle in front of each, even the Stranger. She needs every bit of aid she can summon: the Father’s power, the Mother’s compassion, the Warrior’s courage, the Maiden’s love, the Smith’s strength, the Crone’s wisdom and the Stranger’s knowledge that all things end.

Papa will be furious and Mama will frown with disappointment. Her father first, then. His temper flared and his words cut, but that was easier than the weight of her mother’s judgement. _They will hate this. They’ll never understand_. Olly waits for her outside the sept, his plumy tail wagging gently. Olly understands, or at least he expects nothing and does nothing but love. Dogs are like that. He’s her best friend, and she’ll be leaving him.

The spaniel accompanies her to the stableyard, where she finds her father examining a gray palfrey just arrived from Dorne. “If we breed her to one of the destriers, the result will be interesting. I’ve always wanted to combine the endurance of the sand steeds with the power of our own horses.” He runs a hand down the mare’s leg. “She’s in good condition even after the sea voyage.”

The stablemaster nods. “Her bloodlines are excellent.”

“Now I have to explain the absolute necessity of this mare’s bloodlines to my lady wife, who is diligently examining our accounts at this moment.” He catches sight of her. “Elenei! Look at this beautiful creature. Do you think she’ll be a good mount for you? Do you know where your brother is? He’s probably in the tack room making lovesick eyes at Mina while she tries to work." He bends down. "Olly, are you a good dog? You are? You’re always a good dog.”

Papa generally talks too much, and Mama talks too little. _If we lived somewhere else, I could take the mare and ride far away. At least he’s in a good mood._ “Papa, I’d like… I need to talk to you.”

**********************************

She feels like a prisoner under escort, even though his hand on her arm is light. _Where does he think I’ll escape to? There’s nowhere to hide on Tarth_. Olly follows, his tail tucked low. Her father flings open the door of her mother’s solar, where the Evenstar is frowning over the castle accounts. “Brienne!”

“Jaime, have you bought another horse?”

“Brienne, your daughter…”

“We’re on an island. How many horses do you need? We’re not Lannisters. Not the former sort of Lannister.”

“Are you listening to me? Your daughter…”

“No sentence beginning with ‘your daughter’ ever ends well. All right, she’s my daughter. Have you disowned her?” Her mother pushes a lock of gray-blonde hair behind her ear, looking irritable. “Elenei, what is it, or is your father being dramatic again? As well as spendthrift.”

“Mama, this is important. More important than Papa’s horses or your accounts.”

“Have you set fire to the kitchen trying to make soup? Given away all your clothes? Argued with Maester Corbin or Septon Galton? Invited the entire town to dinner?”

“Don't talk to me like I'm a child. Listen to me and don’t roll your eyes at Papa.”

Her mother puts down her pen. “I’m sorry, Elenei. I’m listening.”

“She…”

“Jaime, if you’re going to call her my daughter, then you can be quiet.”

“Mama, I’m leaving for Maidenpool in three days. I’ve been accepted into the novitiate. I’m going to be a septa.”

Her mother stares, opens her mouth, shuts it, stares some more. She blinks furiously, puts a hand over her face and her shoulders shake. Olly whines, and Elenei steps forward in alarm. Her mother hardly ever cries. Then Brienne’s hand drops and she begins to laugh, first with suppressed snorts, then breaking out into an unladylike hoot. “Elenei, is that what this is all about? Sweetling, you’ve wanted to be a shepherd, a sailor, and a singer. You want to be anything beginning with an ‘S’!” Why not a septa? ”

Elenei hates being laughed at when she’s completely serious. “I’ve turned eight-and-ten. I’m a woman grown and I know what I’m going to do.”

"No you don’t,” her father interjects.

“I’m older than you were when you joined the Kingsguard. Older than Mama was when she left Tarth to fight for Lord Renly.”

“King Renly,” her mother corrects automatically.

“Whatever he was.”

Her father hasn’t finished. “Yes, and both of those were idiotic decisions!”

“Jaime. You’re not helping. Elenei, this seems attractive to you because you don’t know what it means. I was raised by a septa.” Her mother’s eyes cloud. “We don’t have one here, and that’s on purpose.”

“I’ve thought about what it means. I’ve been thinking for the past two years.”

“Your father and I need to talk about this. Perhaps you could wait in your chamber?”

“Good. I’ll be packing. They’ve told me what I can bring.”

She shuts the door on her father’s retort of, “You’re not going anywhere!”

Evenfall Hall has no resident septon. Septon Galton comes up from the town for the major celebrations when everyone converges on the Hall to be feasted by the Evenstar. Occasionally they ride down to the sept by the harbor, mostly, she thinks, so her parents can be seen doing the correct thing. A few times a year Mama invites the septon to dinner and Papa enjoys making fun of the contradictions in The Seven-Pointed Star and asks why, if the Maiden is forever maiden, she needs breasts. Then Mama gives him her ‘shut-up-Jaime’ look.

Elenei hates the thought that they’re talking about her, deciding what she can do, as if it’s their choice, not hers. To distract herself, she ponders the many ways Mama has of saying Papa’s name. So much meaning in two syllables. What she just heard was ‘not-in-front-of-the-children-Jaime.’ It isn’t quite the same as ‘not-now-Jaime’ or ‘be-quiet-Jaime’ or ‘you’re-an-idiot-Jaime.’ Then there’s ‘you’re-making-me-laugh-even-though-I-don’t-want-to-Jaime.’ Also ‘I’m-sorry-Jaime,’ ‘thank-you-Jaime,’ ‘I-love-you-Jaime’ and the low-pitched, breathless ‘please-Jaime’ she only hears if she catches them entwined in an alcove or against a wall. _Which is embarrassing._

It’s embarrassing because it’s her parents, but also because it’s distant from anything she feels herself. This whole business of romantic love, seeking a mate, yearning, wanting, has passed her by. She’s not averse to it, she’s simply uninterested. The songs and tales of knights and maidens move her no more than accounts of long-ago trade wars in Essos. Everyone else seems to understand it, from her brother Duncan making awkward conversation with Mina the stablegirl, to Rose and Nella the kitchen maids kissing in the pantry.

What she longs for is to serve, not one or a few, but many; not with a sword as her parents did, but with her heart. She doesn’t know if they can possibly understand the path that draws her. Even Septon Galton doesn’t understand, and he’s a learned and holy man. _At least he’s supposed to be a learned and holy man. He’s holy enough, if much too fond of his breakfast, lunch and dinner._ She hastily asks the Father’s forgiveness for thinking that Septon Galton is a glutton. _Even though he is._ He had tried to change her mind, warning her that it was a hard path and not one suitable for a high-born lady. But he had kept secret what she had confided, and in the end he had told her where to write and what to do to prepare.

She’ll take smallclothes, three plain gowns, a warm cloak, sturdy boots and a few books. She asked, but she can’t take Olly. That’s all for now; once she has taken her vows she won’t even need this much. The septry will supply her. She begins to pack. If it weren’t for Olly, she’d have no regrets.

Elenei has grown up with the stories. The Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth. The oathbreaker who was a man of honor. Brienne the Beauty, who defeated every man who mocked her. Dead kings, lost hands and lost maidens, bears, vengeful revenants. Sieges, vows broken and kept, wars, wights and dragons. Twin swords which now hang in the great West Hall of Evenfall. She’ll be glad to leave it behind. It’s all so distant and unbelievable and burdensome. _I need to get away from my parents. I’ll love them more when I’m free of them. They'll have Duncan; he's annoying and spotty, but he’ll take care of Olly for me._

**Brienne**

“Remind me again why we had children?” Brienne doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Because I hoped they would be like you.”

“I hoped they would be like you. Or at least look like you!”

“Instead…”

“Do you think she’s a changeling?”

“She has your eyes.”

“She has your nose and hair, which is lucky for her.”

“She has your freckles.”

“So, she’s not a changeling. I thought she might like to swing a sword, and we could teach her. That would be fine. Or I was ready for her to be a scholar, or to want to learn about the mines, or even to be just a silly child interested in gossip and dancing. I told myself I didn’t need her to be like me. But where did this come from?”

“I haven’t believed in the gods since I saw what Aerys did with his sacred, anointed kingship, and don’t tell me you believe any more than is necessary for the Evenstar to demonstrate.”

She huffs a laugh. “I like the festivals.”

“I can never remember the name of that damned septa who told you lies about yourself.” Jaime prowls around the room, picking up and putting down her books.

“Septa Roelle. She was cruel, but she thought she was helping. Some of what she told me is true.”

“That you’re ugly, mannish and a freak, and that if any man says he wants you it’s a lie?”

Brienne blinks and looks away without responding. _Why does it still hurt?_

“I imagine she also told you to respect your husband, if you had one.” He grins. “So respect me, wench. She was wrong. Is the poisonous woman even still alive?”

“Yes. I send her a pension.”

“Gods.”

“It’s worth it to have her gone and nowhere near our children. She’s why I never had a septa for Elenei and Duncan.”

“So we’re back to Elenei.”

“We have to let her go.”

“No we don’t. Her chamber has a good strong lock.”

“She’ll climb out the window.”

“Stubborn. She got that from you. But I’ll see that no ship will leave Tarth with her aboard. Any captain who tries will no longer have a ship.”

“Jaime…”

“I won’t allow her to throw away her life and reject her heritage. She can’t just do as she likes; she has a duty to her family. I won’t let my daughter…”

“Oh, now she’s your daughter? Half an hour ago she was my daughter.”

“Our daughter.” He paces, running a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Noble girls can't run off and become dried-up, sour-faced septas.”

Brienne can’t let that pass. “Is your name Tywin? What I’m hearing right now isn’t my Jaime or Elenei’s Papa. It’s pure Lannister arrogance. ‘Heritage.’ ‘Duty.’ ‘Family.’ Do you expect her to marry some dolt from an appropriate house just to secure an alliance? Or don’t you remember that once a noble girl left Tarth to become a scarred, disillusioned warrior?”

That halts him. “Scarred you are, but you’ve never been disillusioned.” She snorts. “Isn’t heritage, duty and family what brought you back here dragging a crippled old husband?”

“Stop fishing for reassurance. You know very well that you’re an idiot and I love you.” She frowns at him.

“You’re a stubborn mule and I love you.”

“Now that we’ve established that… This is what Elenei’s giving up without ever knowing it.” Irritation forgotten, she holds out her arms with a sigh, and he rests his head on her shoulder. She kisses his temple. “You’re my home.”

“And you’re mine. But neither of us would ever force her to marry. She’s never wanted to.”

“That’s what I wonder about. I always wanted this; wanted you before I even knew who you were, even when I pretended to myself and everyone else that I didn’t. I can’t see inside her head, but she doesn’t seem to care.”

Jaime lifts his head. “She was conceived in Dorne! Crone’s cunt, how can a girl with Dornish blood want to be a godsdamned septa?

Brienne finds herself grinning ruefully. “I don’t think being conceived in Dorne gives her Dornish blood. She’s not going to like it if you curse the gods in front of her.”

“I’ll curse the gods any way I like in my own house.” His tone is more weary than angry.

“My house. Our house. We need to talk to her instead of snapping at each other. She’ll be in her chamber…”

“Or in the sept praying.”

“Wherever she is, she’ll be convinced that we don’t understand her.”

“We don’t.”

She sighs and lifts a hand to his cheek. “We have to try, don’t you think?”

**Jaime**

“Why? You say we don’t understand, so tell us. Why? Why would you, a Lannister and a Tarth, want to spend your life shut up in some lord’s keep, dependent on the family’s generosity, teaching children how to behave, with most people looking down on you or pitying you?” Jaime frowns, his lips a thin line.

“Why would you want to learn to be cruel? My septa was cruel. That’s what happens to most, because of the lives they have to live.” Brienne’s face is softer, but no less somber. 

Elenei’s hand is fisted in Olly’s fur. The dog leans against her patiently. “Do you remember when you sent me to Ashemark?”

“I thought you enjoyed Ashemark. Addam is one of my oldest friends.”

“I did. The Marbrands are very kind. It’s what I saw on the way there. Do you know how most of the smallfolk live? Sometimes there’s enough to eat, but sometimes not. They can’t read, they never travel more than a few miles from their villages. They never see their lords unless taxes are due or armies are being raised. The only help they get is from the Faith.”

“Not here on Tarth.”

Elenei dismisses Tarth with a flick of her head. “Yes, I know that you’re kind and fair. Tarth isn’t the world. Don’t you care about that?”

Brienne puts a hand on his arm before he can speak, or he knows he would say something regrettable. _Remember, she’s young. The young are intolerant. The young think they know better and will do better._ “I’m glad you recognize what your mother and I try to do here, Elenei. It’s not as easy as you seem to think.”

“I’m not going to be the kind of septa who teaches some lord’s brats to embroider!”

“What do you want to do?”

“The septry at Maidenpool is going to train us to go out among the people. We’ll teach, we’ll build, we’ll live among them. We’ll serve those who need us.”

“There are plenty of ways to serve that don’t require you to give up the rest of your life to the gods.”

“This is the purest way.”

“Life isn’t pure, sweetling. You’re going to learn that.”

Elenei looks down. She seems softer suddenly. “I have another story to tell you. Do you know that I’ve only seen you, Papa, in the sept once, except at the feasts?” A glint of mischief. “And I know you only go because Mama makes you.”

“Your mother is an excellent Evenstar.”

“I was five years old; it was the morning Duncan was born. He was screaming, so I knew there was a baby, but I hadn’t seen Mama. Everyone was rushing, and if they noticed me, they told me to stay out of the way. So I went into the sept, because no one was ever there, but Papa was.”

Jaime stares at her. _I remember that morning, but I don’t remember Elenei being there._ “Go on.”

“There was a candle burning in front of the Mother, and another in front of the Warrior. I thought that you were never afraid of anything…”

“Wrong there,” he mutters, and Brienne takes his hand.

“I saw your face, and then _I_ was frightened. You picked me up, and you said something I didn’t understand. ‘Too much blood.’ We just stayed there, and you were shaking. Then the maester ran in and told you to come, and you put me down and rushed off.”

Jaime couldn’t find words. _Maybe I’m more like my own father than I know. I thought my wife was dying, and I hadn’t a moment to spare for my five-year-old daughter._ “I… that was wrong of me, to leave you alone like that.”

“I wasn’t alone. The gods were there. That was the first time I felt them around me, and it was so peaceful. I went to sleep in a corner until I needed to use the privy, and then they found me, said I could see Mama and Duncan after all, and they were fine. When I got there, you’d been crying, Papa.”

“I was sure I would lose her. Like my own mother.” His voice is no more than a whisper.

“I’m tough, and you didn’t,” Brienne snaps. “Elenei, you know your father loves you.”

“Of course he does. But that morning I found out that the love of the gods is perfect. Since then I’ve gone to the sept when I was hurt or afraid.”

There seems little more to say. Jaime feels the ache of failure, and anger at her choice of myth over human love. _Because of what I did, or didn't do_. “I failed you back then, and that set you on this... folly.”

“No, Jaime,” Brienne interrupts. “This isn’t your fault, and it’s not about you.”

“We have to let her go?” He means it as a statement; it sounds like a plea.

“Yes. She’s told us her reasons. Elenei, you know you can always come home.”

“I’ll have made a vow.”

“Not every vow can be kept.” Brienne looks at him. “We’ve learned that.”

“I'm leaving and I won’t want to come home.”

The sentence falls like a stone. It’s been a long, long time since Jaime saw his wife so hurt by words. Her shoulders hunch, and she instinctively clasps her arms around herself in protection. He feels it himself, like a sword slash; first the shock, then the pain. He takes a fast step toward his daughter, but stops as he sees Elenei’s look of triumph crumble at the expression on her mother’s face.

“Mama, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sorry! But I have to do this!”

“We know. We know.”

“Don’t hate me!”

“Sweetling, we could never hate you. No matter what you do or what you say.” Brienne straightens her back, unwraps her arms from around herself and holds them out.

Jaime marvels at her. _Not just Warrior brave, but Mother brave. Can Elenei see her gods there?_ But Brienne’s chin gives its tell-tale quiver. Then she is crying and Elenei is crying, and Jaime tries to put his arms around them both, even though his arms aren’t long enough. Olly circles, barking anxiously.

Duncan bursts through the door and stops in confusion. “What’s going on? Olly, be quiet! Papa? Mama? Elenei?”

“Duncan, do you have a handkerchief? Your sister has news to tell you.”

**************************************

Everything she’s bringing fits into one small trunk. They all want the moment never to end, and they also want it to be over quickly. Most of the important words have been spoken; what is left is trivial.

“You should have a smooth crossing.”

“I hope your cabin is comfortable.”

“I’m going to stay on deck during the day.”

“Send us a raven… will you be allowed to do that?”

“Yes, every two weeks. You can always write to me, too. Tell me about Olly, and about Papa’s new horses.”

“I’ll miss you,” blurts Duncan, looking miserably embarrassed.

“You’ll take care of Olly for me. Take care of Mama and Papa, too.”

A final hug. Brienne breathes the familiar scent of her daughter’s hair. The next time they meet, and who knows when that will be, Elenei’s hair will be shorn and hidden beneath a wimple.

Elenei hugs Duncan and finally her father. “I love you.”

Brienne reaches without looking and Jaime’s hand slides into hers. Hands clasped as Elenei climbs the gangplank, they release their daughter into her future.

**Author's Note:**

> I quite enjoyed writing the smutty part, but it's just for you lovely people! I hope you enjoy it, too! I take comfort in the fact that it won't be seen by: my mother, my mother-in-law, my kids, my grandchildren (nononono), my book group, the ladies in the garden club or any member of St. James Episcopal Church.


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